


awake my soul

by naimeria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Familiars, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These woods have always crackled with life to those with the ears for it. Passersby will stroll right through, benign and blind to what else can be found between the branches, under the dirt. It's wondrous, knowing something this beautiful can be called his home, knowing he has a hand in protecting it. That he has a witch to call home, too, that they protect this place together. </p><p>(That one AU where Stiles is a witch, Scott is his familiar, and all of Beacon Hills is a little bit different than the one we know.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	awake my soul

There’s a constant buzzing, a warm feeling, when you’re living in woods that really belong to you. Scott would never address them as his, of course, that’d be rude – but still, he’s spent so much time, shed blood, fur, and doled out unquantifiable amounts of magic that he knows he’s printed in the bark and buried in the roots.

Stiles, too, though his effect is probably more obvious. Scott feels it, furred or otherwise, each time he takes their well-worn path. It’s nice to belong. To love, and be loved in return.

He lopes through the wards with ease, feeling the rustle of his fur as if he’s being welcomed; these wards were not meant for him, after all. He helped create them, to keep his witch safe. They’re an old friend, a balm, but he doesn’t think much of them, because Stiles is just ahead, smelling like spice and smoke and the sweat of people that press too close in the village square.

He says resolutely wolf as he slows his lope to a trot, chuffing out a welcome, and Stiles is talking before his paws hit the wooden deck.

“You’d think they’re arming up for war these prices were so high. We might have to resort to you hunting fulltime again, screw the risk. And guess what, there’s another sign, but it barely even looks like me, it’s kind of beautiful.”

Scott breezes past flailing arms and ducks his muzzle beneath Stiles’ armpit, knowing it grosses him out but liking how Stiles he smells.

“Weirdo. I probably smell like half the village by now.”

He does. It’s why getting under his cloak works best – plus, he knows his muzzle will tickle. Stiles yelps on cue and drops whatever he was holding. Scott vaguely hopes it wasn’t breakable.

“You’re a menace.”

Scott burrows deeper, forcing Stiles to wrap his arms around his neck, fingers buried in his scruff like they belong there. The witch figures it out easily enough and laughs, high and bright, and gives his skin a good scratching. “Yeah, yeah, but you’re my menace.”

Scott nips at his shirt, Stiles’ clever fingers going from the nape of his neck to behind his ears, knuckles running circles into his fur. “It’s been almost a full day since you’ve changed, you missing it?” The words are light, but he hears the lilt in Stiles’ voice, the raw concern he has, that somehow Scott regrets making his choice.

To prove a point, like he’s wont to do, Scott eases up and out, the hot pressure a familiar ache by now. When he takes it slow, it feels a bit like he’s always been able to do this. As he arches his back up, he wraps his arms around Stiles’ back, nose lined up with the underside of Stiles’ jaw. He kisses the soft skin there, and smiles when Stiles hums in his throat. “Sometimes,” Scott says against his neck. “But not today.”

Stiles shivers, and hugs Scott back with a fierceness he always carries in his breast.

He doesn’t want to shatter the moment, a bubble in time where they’re loose and pliant in each other’s arms, but it’s important, so Scott leans out of his witch’s space (and pretends not to hear his noise of displeasure). “So – what’s this about a sign?”

“Can we have this conversation when you’re not naked and kissing my neck?” Stiles groans, rubbing a hand over his face. Scott grins at him and unpins Stiles’ cloak from his shoulders, draping it over his shoulders and arching a brow.

“This work for you?”

“It’s covering literally your shoulders and pretty much nothing else. So no, it really doesn’t. Not unless you’re willing to let me rip it off of you in the next two minutes.”

Scott chuckles, warm and deep in his chest, but quirks his lips and angles his brow. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up and knocking a pitcher plant into the doorframe. “Fine, you heathen. It’s another wanted poster. You know my cloaking spells are on point, there’s really nothing to worry about. It’s actually kind of hilarious.”

“Yeah, you said that before,” Scott says, a tone that screams  _ he’ll _ be the judge of that. He watches Stiles rustle in his pack before pulling some crumpled parchment out and surrendering it willingly enough.

It really does look nothing like Stiles. Always good for solid charms, Stiles has perfected the art of little tweaks. It’s not necessary to change a person fully to hide them in plain sight – in fact, that’s a much harder charm, and a lot more energy goes into making them stick. His foreheads broader, nose tapering down instead of up, hair cut short to his scalp instead of sticking up every which way. His moles are gone, he’s got a gap in his teeth, and even the shape of his eyes are different. He looks very generic, a forgettable face.

Scott’s still scowling. “You know why I worry, right?”

“Because you’re worried the Argents are gonna find me and cut off my head?” Stiles raises his hands in lieu of Scott’s baleful glare. “I know, I know. I don’t wanna be caught either. And believe me, I know you don’t care about what happens to you, but I do. I’m playing it safe, I promise, Scotty.”

Not exactly mollified but seeing no point in arguing anymore, Scott nods. “Just wish you’d let me come into town with you more often. Or instead of you, like, ever.”

“Dude, I know what being in busy places does to you, okay? I won’t let that happen.”

“I do fine when I’m with you, though,” Scott points out. He knows he’s way too big as a wolf to go traipsing in and pretending he’s some ratty mutt, but with a human face, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Yeah, last time you had a headache that lasted two days and you were stuck in that form for twice that. Wasn’t exactly a blast.”

“If I can make sure you’re safe, it’s worth it.”

Stiles’ brow loosens, and he runs a hand through his hair at top speed, clearly on his way to being agitated but trying his best to fight it. Scott feels bad, but only a little. It’s a solid point he’s raising and he knows it. “I know, buddy, okay?” Stiles thumbs at the scar on Scott’s cheek, whiskey eyes warm and digging. “I know you’re painfully self-sacrificing and stick with me even though I have absolutely no idea why. I know you want me safe, and I know you love me. And you know I feel the same. So let me try and keep you safe and healthy too, huh?”

Scott’s insides go all melty, and his face must reflect at least some of it, because Stiles rolls his eyes and smooths his knuckles where his thumb pad was rubbing a moment ago. “You’re about to say something mushy, aren’t you.”

“Nope,” Scott says with a smile. “You did all the work for me.”

“C’mere you idiot, I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

Scott cups Stiles’ face, fingertips curling in the short hair behind his ear. “I can.”

“Was that – did you just compliment yourself?” Stiles looks like he wants to say more, but Scott kisses him before he can. The way his hands immediately dive beneath the cloak Scott appropriated, he doesn’t seem to mind too much.


End file.
